


the heart beats in threes

by itsahockeyplay



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, just lots of feelings? and attempts at communicating those feelings?, not sure how to tag this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-19 04:59:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14229783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsahockeyplay/pseuds/itsahockeyplay
Summary: The thing is, he doesn't want to make Sid feel like he has to pick sides. Mainly because he knowsSiddoesn't want to pick sides, doesn't see this as a situation where he would ever even have to, but partly because he's afraid he won't like the answer, if Siddoesfeel like he has no choice.It's not that he doubts Sid loves him. Of course Sid loves him. But they haven't even talked about what they want their lives to look like a couple years from now, let alone after hockey. It's a conversation Zhenya doesn't want to have.





	the heart beats in threes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coricomile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coricomile/gifts).
  * Inspired by [the places you will be from](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11300820) by [coricomile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coricomile/pseuds/coricomile). 



> so, there's no actual threeway in this fic -- this is all pre-threeway conversation. mainly deals w sid bringing this up with geno and how geno feels about that. i tagged it as sid/flower/geno mainly because that's the topic, though flower doesn't get a lot of page time in this fic. it's just like. a lot of emotions happening and geno and sid solidifying what their relationship is. 
> 
> thank you to [sevenfists](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenfists/pseuds/sevenfists) for being a fantastic, wonderful beta that made this 100x better than it originally was.
> 
> title is from regina spektor's "firewood." enjoy!

Sid’s spent the whole day frowning at Zhenya when he thinks Zhenya isn’t looking, opening his mouth and then shutting it without saying a word. Multiple times, he’s trailed off at the end of a sentence, as if he meant to continue but decided against it. He’s started conversations on  _ weird  _ things, mentioning stuff he's never really talked about, most of it somehow connected to Flower, all of it abandoned about halfway through.

Suffice to say, Zhenya’s expecting some big news related to Flower. He’d expected Sid to break the news much, much earlier in the day, but they’ve already eaten dinner and  _ still  _ Sid’s intent on pretending he doesn’t have something he wants to talk about.

“How are you so patient?” is a question that’s  _ never  _ been directed at Zhenya, and for good reason. Currently, he’s staring at Sid out of the corner of his eye. Sid’s fidgeting in his seat, brow furrowed as he pretends he’s paying attention to the TV, and Zhenya has almost run out of patience.He’s so close to demanding Sid just  _ tell him _ , but pushing Sid more often than not results in him lashing out and retreating further into himself, and Zhenya doesn't handle Sid’s tendency to turtle very well.

If Sid decides after all this buildup he’s changed his mind, though, and he isn’t going to talk to Zhenya today, too fucking bad. He’s not gonna let Sid leave until he gets answers, turtling be damned.  

But for now, he waits, forcing an air of nonchalance and slinging an arm around Sid’s shoulder, pulling him in. Sid's tense for a few minutes before he relaxes, moving closer, and Zhenya sees the crease between his eyebrows vanish.

“Hey, so, uh, I need to talk to you,” he says a couple minutes later, studiously avoiding Zhenya’s eyes.

Zhenya refrains from doing a celly. "Oh? What?" 

Sid mutes the TV and turns so his body's angled toward Zhenya. "So, uh." His mouth's still open, but no sound is coming out.

"You accidentally mute yourself, too?" Zhenya says, hoping it comes out amused rather than impatient. 

"Jesus, okay, let me try that again," he mumbles, running a hand through his hair. He takes a breath and says, all as one word, "So Flower and me used to fuck." He pauses. "Y'know. Have sex." 

Zhenya blinks at him. "What?" Fucking English. Sid probably means something else, because it can't — it  _ can't  _ be what Zhenya thinks he said.

Sid glances down then back to Zhenya's face, turning pinker by the minute. "We — me and Flower, we used to. Y'know." He pauses again. "We used to fuck. Like, regularly." 

Zhenya pulls his arm back, moving away from Sid. "You  _ fuck  _ Flower? You do this to Vero?  _ Flower  _ do this to Vero?" How could Flower have done that to Vero? Cheating on her? How the fuck had Sid enabled that? Sid's mouth's open, as if he's about to say something, but Zhenya doesn't really care right now. "You still fuck? This — what? Why you tell?" 

"No, wait, Geno — " He moves as if to grab Zhenya’s hand, but Zhenya jerks it away, crossing his arms instead. "No, I'm sorry, that's not — I'm fucking this up." 

"Fuck this, fuck Flower," Zhenya says, voice steadily growing louder, waving his arm left and right. "What else you fuck?" 

"Just  _ listen _ to what — " 

" _ Am _ listening! What, I hear wrong?" 

"Yes!" 

That gets Zhenya to stop. "What?" 

Sid blows out a breath, passing a hand over his face. "I shouldn't have led with that. Vero knows. I would never —  _ Flower  _ would never do that. Vero's totally okay with it." 

Zhenya frowns, deflating a little. "Vero okay?" 

"Yeah. Yes," he says, nodding. "It was — a thing for them, I guess? But, uh, yeah. I thought I'd tell you." 

Zhenya takes a moment to mull it over. He's known couples in similar situations so that isn't what's tripping him up. What he's confused about is: "Why you tell me now?" And: "You and Flower, like, break up?" 

"It was a friends with benefits thing." He scrunches up his nose a little as he says, "I didn't wanna  _ date _ Flower and Vero or anything. Just — Flower offered, and I said fine, and it worked, so we just kept doing it."

Zhenya's still frowning. He's pretty sure Sid hasn't  _ cheated  _ on him, but the way he said it — so casual, unbothered — makes him ask hesitantly, "You do since we start?" 

Sid's eyes widen and he shakes his head. "No, of course not, I wouldn't."  

A bit of tension leeches out of him. "Okay, good, know this. Just check." He sinks back down and Sid follows suit, offering him a small smile, and then Zhenya remembers his other question. "But why you tell? This not bother me." Well. It  _ does _ , but it isn't something he's ready to bring up. 

"It's, um, well, uh." If he had his cap on his head, he'd be adjusting it neurotically, but instead, he's taken to grasping the back of his neck, letting his hand fall down. "Flower and I were talking. The other day. And he asked me, and I said I'd bring it up with you, so...this is me bringing it up." 

Zhenya waits. And waits some more. "Bring what up?" 

Sid's flushed, glancing at Zhenya then away again and again. "It's, uh. Flower wanted to ask if we wanted to have sex. All three of us. As a threeway thing." 

Zhenya rears back, staring. He’s pretty sure it isn't a mistranslation, even if the meaning of Sid's words makes  _ no sense _ . 

"You don't have to! I told Flower it wasn't gonna happen but I also told him I'd ask so I just thought I actually would and — " Sid cuts himself off, taking a quick breath. "Just...forget I ever asked, okay?" 

_ No  _ is on the tip of Zhenya’s tongue, but seeing Sid — hunched in on himself, red enough it's almost worrying — makes him shake his head and instead say, "Not say no, Sid." 

Sid slowly straightens, mouth parting. "...What?" 

Zhenya huffs. "Can't just —  _ say  _ and want answer right now. Have to let me think." 

"You...want to think about it?" 

Zhenya sighs, moving closer, taking one of Sid’s hands. "You want? Yes or no?" 

Sid's mouth works. "I — I don't — "

"That's not choice," Zhenya says, gently interrupting him. He swipes his thumb across the back of Sid’s hand. "Is yes or no question." 

Sid bites his lip. He turns his hand in Zhenya's grip so he can wrap around it. "Yes." 

"Then I think." If this is something Sid really wants...well, Zhenya can't just say  _ no  _ without thinking about it, first. 

Sid's smile is small and relieved. "Okay." He nods and repeats, firmer, "Okay." He reaches for the remote, turning the volume up, and settles back against Zhenya, letting his hand go. 

***

The first thought hit him a few moments after the initial conversation: Does Sid not enjoy the sex they're having? And once that stone was cast, other thoughts started trickling through, one by one — is he  _ bored  _ of Zhenya? Is this something he's been wanting for a while? Had he been thinking about Flower every time they had sex? Does he complain about Zhenya  _ to  _ Flower? 

Does Sid  _ miss  _ Flower? Is Zhenya’s refusal going to push Sid away?    

_ Of course not. It isn’t like that, with Sid. Sid isn’t like that.  _ Sure, Zhenya'd had some trouble in previous relationships anytime he’d refused to do something the other person wanted, but Sid’s different. 

But the questions are like the heads of a hydra: for each one he answers, two more crop up. By the time Sid's about to leave, Zhenya’s head is a cacophony of doubts, each one clamoring to be heard over the other.

Sid always leaves at pretty much the exact moment every time he's over during the week, in almost the same exact manner. He'll straighten, turn off the TV, stretch a little, make a comment about the time and how he "should get going," stick around for a few more moments to wrap up any conversation, and then leave. Weekends are played more by-the-ear, but in the sort of way where each step is already well-defined; the only surprising thing will be in what  _ order  _ the steps will be carried out. 

Zhenya isn't sure whether he does it purposely or if building routines is such an innate part of Sid's life he does it without thinking. Whatever the case, it seems visiting Zhenya is another routine he's added to his repertoire.    

There has to be some type of internal biological clock governing his routines, because Sid shifts away and straightens without looking at the time, turning the TV off and stretching his arms above his head. It's an achievement because Zhenya got rid of all the clocks in this room — specifically  _ for  _ testing his Sid's-got-an-internal-timer theory; he still has his own watch on because he's the one conducting the experiment — and Sid hasn't looked at his phone once. He turns his head, looking at Zhenya with a smile. "I should get going." 

Solitude is exactly what Zhenya needs to sort out his thoughts. Alternatively, company might be the only thing keeping them from overwhelming him. He isn't sure which one's correct, but he's going to find out. "Yeah." 

The smile fades. "What's wrong?" 

Zhenya shakes his head. "Nothing, just little tired." 

"Bullshit. What's wrong?" 

"Nothing, Sid," he snaps. "Can go home."

Sid turns his head further toward Zhenya. If he's bothered by the tone, nothing shows it. "Geno. Please tell me what's wrong?" 

It's the way he says it — head tilted to the side, mouth pursed in concern, eyes wide — that makes Zhenya say, picking at the shorts he's wearing: "Just…little bit worry. You not...like sex we have? If want Flower." 

Sid makes a sound at that, making Zhenya looking at him. "No, god, no —  " He inches closer, hesitating for only a second before placing his palm on Zhenya's shoulder, squeezing, sliding it down to his chest. "I love it, I love you. This is just — only if you're okay with it. It isn't something I need, at all." 

Zhenya frowns. "Really?" 

Sid nods vehemently. "Really." He leans close, pecking Zhenya on the lips. "I wouldn't mind _ at all _ if you said no. Really." 

Zhenya searches Sid's face. Frank earnestness stares back at him. "Then…" He licks his bottom lip. "Okay if I say no?" 

"Of course," he says, smiling. Zhenya can't tell if there's disappointment hiding in his eyes or not. "I'll tell Flower tomorrow." 

Zhenya wants to believe him, but he can't help but wonder — does Sid mean it? Or is he just lying, to make Zhenya feel better? That isn't something he does — when he's displeased, he lets Zhenya  _ know  _ — but maybe this is the first. There's a first time for everything, after all. 

It must show on his face, because Sid sighs. "Geno," he says, turning so he's properly facing Zhenya, almost boxing him into the corner of the couch. "You don't believe me?" 

"Do, of course," Zhenya mutters, twisting his mouth as he looks at his lap. God, he hates how much he's obsessing over this. If Sid's said he's fine, it means he's  _ fine _ . 

Unless...he's not. 

"No, hey," Sid says softly. He places a hand on Zhenya's cheek, pressing until he looks at Sid. "Sorry for bringing it up. I shouldn't have." 

Zhenya shakes his head. "No, of course should have. Should be able to. Sorry I…sorry I be dumb." 

"You're not being dumb." 

Zhenya stares at him. 

"Okay. You're being a  _ little  _ dumb." He strokes Zhenya's cheek with a thumb. "But I get why." He studies Zhenya's face for a bit before biting his lip. "Is there anything I can do to make you believe I mean it?" 

Zhenya quirks his lips. "Do enough already. Know you mean. Just need feeling to catch up." He hates the lag between rationality and emotion, sometimes. "Maybe...I think little bit more? Before you talk to Flower?" 

"If you want. I mean, you could always change your mind later, it isn't like there's a deadline. If the only reason you wanna take more time is because you wanna figure out whether or not I mean it, though, don't, because I'm  _ really  _ okay. If it helps, I can wait a few days before talking to Flower, and if you have a sudden change of heart, we can talk about it, but Geno...it's really, really okay." 

"Yes," Zhenya says, laughing a little, "say this already. Stop worry. I'll be okay."  

Sid doesn't look convinced. He's got a crease between his eyebrows, and Zhenya wants him to "get going," not get caught up in Zhenya's inability to internalize assuaging comments about his insecurities. Zhenya bends down to kiss him, quick and chaste. "Really," he says when he pulls back. "Just need time." He lets his smile turn mischievous. "Not all of us great Sidney Crosby, able to force emotions to behave. Too much discipline." 

It works. Sid scoffs, but the smile he's suppressing isn't suppressed enough. "Don't even know why I try." 

"Too sweet, nice," Zhenya says, obnoxious as possible as he tries to ruffle Sid's hair, and Sid lets out a burst of laughter before trying to wrestle away from Zhenya's grip. 

Zhenya plays along, mostly okay, but a part of him wonders — is he enough for Sid? 

***

He can't get the idea out of his head. 

The next time he sees Flower, he stares for long enough Flower says, "Are you planning to murder me? Because Vero will probably want a heads up if that's the case." His expression is sympathetic as he says, "You know how it is, what with her wanting to know if she'll have to learn to fend for herself and the girls. Or maybe you don't." 

Zhenya scowls. "Fuck off," he says, since he doesn't have anything else to say. 

Flower smirks. "Clever." 

Just for that, Zhenya tries even harder to score against him during practice, crowing when he gets a goal,  then another, then another, and another and another; enough so that he can claim he lost count. 

By the time they're done, Flower's taken to scowling at  _ him _ . Everyone hates losing, even if it's just in practice. 

"Something wrong?" Zhenya says after catching Flower glaring at him, tamping down on his grin, hoping it comes out innocent enough it's provocative. 

"Fuck off." 

Zhenya makes an exaggeratedly appreciative expression. "Clever." 

Flower frowns further, but Zhenya's cooled down enough all he thinks when he sees Flower is Sid fucking him. Or Flower fucking Sid. He thinks about the  _ sounds  _ they'd made,  _ could  _ make. He knows what Sid sounds like, when he gets desperate and needy, but what about Flower? How did Flower respond to Sid's beautiful responsiveness, his propensity for quick and efficient? Did Flower indulge him, more often than not, or react the way Zhenya does — stoke the flame until that impatience turns to desperation before responding?

"Fuck off," Flower repeats, scowl impressive, and Zhenya backs down. Flower hasn't been doing as well as he wants, and Zhenya isn't going to add to that, not now. 

He turns to his own stall, head down as he strips out of his gear. He's almost bare when someone taps his shoulder. He turns, and Sid's standing there, naked as the day he was born. 

"Okay if I come — "  _ Yes,  _ Zhenya thinks " — over after?" he says, unbothered by their respective states of undress. Zhenya thinks of himself as fairly unselfconscious when it comes to nakedness, but Sid — as usual — takes it to an inhuman level. 

"Okay," he says after a beat, having been occupied with staring at Sid's mouth. Had Sid blown Flower? Was Flower as gentle as Zhenya was, unwilling to tug too hard at Sid's hair or fuck his mouth, or the opposite: rough, uncaring? 

Sid's mouth stretches into a smile, and Zhenya forces back the thoughts it brings to the forefront of his mind. "Great. See you in a bit, I guess." 

He's coming over for sex, probably. It's the only time he checks before appearing at Zhenya's door. For everything else, he shows up unannounced. Zhenya would be lying if he said he didn't find it disproportionately charming. 

For the past couple of days, though, ever since Sid's confession — request? — all Zhenya has been thinking of any time they have sex — or any time, period — is about Sid and Flower, and about Sid and Flower and himself, together. About Flower going back to Vero, talking about what he'd seen. About how good Sid is for Zhenya, how good they are together. 

He doesn't know how he feels about that, but he knows he feels a lot of it. 

When he gets home, way before Sid, he decides to warm up some leftovers, pulling out two plates to shovel warm pasta onto both just in time for Sid to appear.  

Zhenya frowns at his attire but abstains from commenting. It’s still cold as fuck outside, but Sid seems to believe the sun being out means wearing anything but shorts and a T-shirt is illegal. He’s even got his sunglasses, to complete the look. 

What else can be expected from a man who’s adamant about barbecuing when the temperature is in single digits? Zhenya’s just thankful he has enough sense to wear actual shoes instead of insisting on sandals. 

"Always show up just when I'm done making food," Zhenya says, raising his eyebrows. "Convenient." 

"If you drove slower, I'd be able to help," Sid says, grabbing a plate and fork, "so really, it's all your fault." 

Zhenya rolls his eyes. "Everything my fault." 

Sid points at him with his fork. "You said it, not me." 

Zhenya doesn't dignify that with a response, instead walking over to the couch and sinking into the cushions, Sid close behind. He lets Sid dissect practice as they eat, offering commentary whenever he has any, nodding when he doesn't, and he finishes way before Sid, setting his plate down. 

When Sid's finally finished his food, Zhenya leans in and kisses him during a lull in the conversation. Sid's taken by surprise, if the way he's holding his plate and the shocked sound against Zhenya's mouth is any indication, but Zhenya doesn't bother pulling back, pushes further instead. Sid gets the play quickly, settling down his plate with a loud  _ clack  _ on the coffee table, curling his hands into Zhenya's shirt and pulling him closer. 

Zhenya pulls back just enough to suck in a quick breath before diving back in, ignoring the fact Sid hadn't gotten enough time to catch  _ his  _ breath. He buries his hand in Sid's hair, cupping his jaw with one hand, tilting his face until it's comfortable enough for Zhenya to lick into his mouth with fervor. 

Is this how Flower kissed him, too? 

" _ Fuck _ ," Sid hisses when Zhenya moves back after a bit, chasing Zhenya's mouth and grinding his half-hard cock against Zhenya's hip. 

"You want?" Zhenya asks, eyes trained on the way Sid's mouth is parted, breath coming faster. 

"Yeah," Sid says, pulling Zhenya closer, saying against his lips, "Always." 

Zhenya hums into the kiss, leaning back into the couch, tugging at Sid until he gets the message and straddles Zhenya's lap, breaking the kiss only long enough to groan softly when Zhenya slides his hand down, gripping his ass, squeezing, and he grinds down. 

Zhenya tilts his head back against the back and Sid uses that to his advantage, sucking kisses into his neck, on his Adam's apple, down further. Zhenya's hands convulse where they've got a grip on Sid's ass and Sid's breath rushes out of him. 

He tries to pull back, off of Zhenya's lap, but Zhenya doesn't let him, complaining wordlessly as he pulls Sid back down. 

"Wanna blow you," Sid says when he can, sounding distracted enough that Zhenya's mollified about his abilities. 

"Later. Have lots time." 

Sid doesn't let Zhenya capture his mouth, instead moving back to frown down at him. "But I wanna now." 

Zhenya grins. "Too bad." He pulls Sid down again, and Sid lets out an indignant sound before it turns into a pleased one as Zhenya focuses intently on kissing him the way he thinks Sid deserves to be kissed. 

Had Flower given Sid whatever he'd asked for immediately? 

Sid pushes back against Zhenya's hands, which are still comfortably, perfectly placed on Sid's ass. When Zhenya ignores him again, he breaks away. 

"That means I want you to  _ do  _ something, Geno," he says, and it's his  _ I'm going to pout at you until I get what I want, then deny the fact I'd been pouting  _ tone, not his  _ I'm going to pretend I mind but I really, really don't  _ one. 

"Okay, okay," Zhenya says, pulling him down again. It's hard  _ not  _ to kiss Sid, if Zhenya knows the opportunity's there. He's opportunistic; it's a good thing, really. "Want me to fuck you?" 

"Yeah," Sid sighs into Zhenya's mouth. 

The only reason Zhenya's legs haven't gone numb is because Sid's been more or less holding himself up, and he's thankful for it. Sid weighs as much as a fridge; Zhenya isn't going to pretend he can carry all that for very long. He places a hand on Sid's chest, pushing, but refusing to relinquish the grip he has in Sid's hair. 

"Getting some mixed signals, here," Sid says, pulling back far enough to raise his eyebrows down at Zhenya. 

"Am complicated guy," Zhenya says, grinning. He pulls Sid in, kissing him hard before letting go for real, pushing impatiently. 

Sid sighs. "So impatient." 

Zhenya pauses in between getting up, hoping his expression conveys the feeling of  _ YOU'RE accusing ME? _

"I'm not impatient," Sid says, trying to look innocent and failing. Zhenya can do it so much better. "I'm just looking for the most efficient — " 

Zhenya crowds him back, holding his wrists when Sid brings up his hands as if to push back. "Yes, of course, never impatient. Never play dirty, never cheat, never hit, too, yes?" 

Sid's smirking, looking far, far too pleased with himself. "For sure. Glad you agree." 

" _ This  _ why I have to stop laughing at jokes," Zhenya says, pursing his lips. "Because you start think you funny." 

"Fuck you, I'm hilarious." 

"No," Zhenya says, and he pauses for dramatic effect, leaning in so he can say, face serious, "You Sidney Crosby." 

Sid, as expected, laughs loudly after pretending to be unamused for a few seconds. "I hate you so much." 

Zhenya sighs, shaking his head. "First lie, say you not impatient. Then lie, say you funny. Now lie, say you hate me? Sid, getting out of control." 

Sid's trying to stop himself, but he's smiling widely as he says, "Are we gonna stand here all day, or are we gonna take this to the bedroom any time soon?" 

Zhenya tilts his head in consideration. "I'm fine with stay here all day." 

"Now who's lying?" Sid pulls his hands free from Zhenya's grip and tugs. "I wanna have sex before we die of old age, thanks." 

Zhenya's smirk turns into a smile as he stares at the back of Sid's head, softening enough that when Sid turns back to him, no doubt to attempt a witty chirp, he pauses and shuts his mouth instead, smile turning into something almost sappy, if Zhenya believed in the concept of "sappy." 

"Hey," he says. 

"Hi," Zhenya says, and Sid laughs before tugging Zhenya into a kiss. 

"Have I recently said I love you?" 

"Can say more," Zhenya says, leaning down to nose at Sid's jaw, behind his ear. "Like hear you say it." 

Sid giggles, as if Zhenya doesn't mean it, and Zhenya doesn't bother trying to correct that assumption. "As if you don't know." 

A pang of uncertainty travels through Zhenya, and it isn't something he wants Sid to pick up on so he grins as asshole-ishly as possible as he pushes Sid, saying, "Don't know, Sid; keep tell me." 

"Yeah, yeah." Sid isn't looking at him as he starts moving again, so Zhenya drops the grin. "Whatever. I'm not inflating your ego anymore than it already is." 

They reach the door to the bedroom and Zhenya pushes Sid through, pausing at the door jamb as Sid starts stripping.

It's stupid,  _ so  _ stupid, to think about Flower right now. Part of him thinks about how Flower reacted to this, to Sid stripping as efficiently as possible — thinks about whether Sid was this comfortable with Flower, if he threw Flower the same impatient expression he's throwing Zhenya. 

Another part of him shrivels up at the thought of Sid being this comfortable with Flower, wants to sit Sid down and demand every small detail of every encounter between the two. 

"Oh my god, come on," Sid says, stepping out of his underwear. The way he's glaring at Zhenya shouldn't be attractive but, alas, Zhenya has been ruined.

"Come on what?" Zhenya says, looking innocent — and Zhenya  _ knows  _ how to look convincingly innocent. "Where?" 

Sid throws his shirt at Zhenya's face, glaring, which would be more effective if he weren't naked, cock still half-hard. "Not anywhere near me, if you keep that up." 

Zhenya bats the shirt to the side, leering. "Can't help but keep up. Is what you do to me," he coos, glancing down at his crotch. He can't help laughing at Sid's face, and also because he's hilarious. He strips his shirt and stops, purely to revel in the way Sid frowns and steps toward him, tugging at his fly impatiently. "Always such hurry. Relax." 

" _ You  _ relax," Sid says, pushing Zhenya's unbuttoned, unzipped pants down. 

Zhenya steps back, taking his time to step out of his pants. 

Sid sighs noisily, getting out, " _ Finally _ ," when Zhenya's naked, tugging him down onto the bed before Zhenya can be appropriately smug about it. 

Zhenya pins Sid's wrists to the bed, a large part of him busy thinking about the way Sid opens his mouth beneath him, sucking his tongue as Zhenya dips down to kiss him, the way he flexes and unflexes his hands but doesn't bother freeing himself from Zhenya's grip; the small part that isn't occupied thinking about that is busy wondering — how had Flower responded to Sid's bossy impatience? Had he bothered toying with Sid, or given in immediately?

"Geno," Sid mutters against his mouth, and Zhenya pushes away every thought of Flower from his mind. Sid deserves all of his attention. 

After, Zhenya lies on the bed, head resting next to Sid's thigh. Sid's propped himself up against the headboard, doing something on his phone, sheets pooled around his waist, hair mussed and catching some of the sunlight filtering through the window. He glances at Zhenya and smiles, eyes soft, face completely unguarded. The hand he has in Zhenya's hair is warm and heavy and anchoring.

Flower has seen Sid like this. The thought burrows itself into Zhenya’s heart, pulsing through him in conjunction with his heartbeat, and Flower can’t have this, not anymore. Zhenya wants to keep it for himself. Needs to keep it for himself. Sid is –

He cuts the thought off before he can finish it.  _ People don’t belong to people _ , he reminds himself.  _ People don’t belong to people.  _ If they did, Zhenya would be living a very different life: he’d never have to worry about anyone leaving. Hell, he’d still be with his first girlfriend, the one he was convinced he was gonna marry. 

But Zhenya  _ wants  _ that. He  _ wants  _ to belong to Sid, he  _ wants  _ Sid to belong to him, because if Sid leaves –

He can’t risk it.

“Do I have something on my face?” Sid asks, eyebrows raised.

“Yes,” Zhenya says, and he taps the corner of his mouth, adding, “Right here.”

Sid furrows his brow, bringing up a thumb to wipe the corner of his mouth. “Good?”

Zhenya shakes his head. “No.”

Sid tries again. “Did I get it?”

Zhenya sighs, shifting himself upright so he can inch closer to Sid. “Still miss. I get.” He cradles Sid’s cheek and leans in, kissing him slow and lazy, because he  _ can  _ take his time, take however long he wants.

When they break apart, Sid’s about to say something but Zhenya stops him before he can get anywhere. “Oops, still not get.”

“Right,” Sid says dryly, so Zhenya leans in again, pulling Sid closer, going even slower than before.

“That was really cheesy,” Sid says, eyes crinkled at the corners.

“You like cheesy.”

Sid laughs softly. He leans in, saying, “God help me, I do,” drawing Zhenya in with a hand on the back of his head.

Zhenya shuts his eyes. No one is allowed to take this from him.   

***

Zhenya's obsessing. He knows he is, but there really isn't anything he can do to stop it. He's not like Sid — he can't just ignore what he's feeling and lie about it to himself. 

"What did that beer do to you?" 

Zhenya snaps his head up. Flower's staring back at him, smiling as mischievously as always, but his eyes are serious, trained on Zhenya's face. 

Sid had gotten up a few moments ago, but the way other restaurant-goers' eyes tracked him, it's gonna take him a lot longer than usual to get back — people had been fairly respectful of leaving the three of them alone while they were eating, but there was no way they were going to ignore Sid going off by himself.  

Which meant he and Flower were alone, a detail Zhenya had forgotten. If he'd remembered in time, he would've followed Sid to the bathroom. 

"Not what it did, what it going to do," Zhenya says, grinning, hoping the seriousness leaves Flower's face. Flower isn't a clown by any means, but the only times Zhenya's seen his face completely serious are times all of them would rather forget. 

It doesn't work. "Are you pissed at me?" 

So they're doing this, then. "No. Why you think that?" 

Flower shrugs, leaning back, resting an arm on the back of the chair next to him. "Just checking. Sid didn't tell me how you took the news, and you've been acting weird the past few days, so I thought maybe that was it." He takes the hat off his head, running a hand through his hair before affixing it back to his head, brim turned back. He flashes Zhenya a smile. "Kinda figured it wasn't, though, since you'd probably have tried to run me over at least ten times during practice if you were pissed." 

Zhenya scoffs, rolling his eyes. He leans back as well, forcing his shoulders down away from his ears. "Maybe I'm pissed, just waiting for you to let guard down.  _ Then  _ run over." The cool plastic of his sunglasses, hanging from the v of his neck, is distracting enough he sets them on the table. 

Flower's still staring at him. Zhenya glances at him before putting the sunglasses on; they're outside, and it's bright enough he's got a good excuse. 

He isn't pissed. He's just...he isn't sure  _ what  _ he is. It isn't pleasant, though. 

Flower  _ still  _ hasn't said anything. Zhenya knows what game he's playing, because he's played it before — he isn't going to let the uncomfortable silence get to him, though, so he stares right back. 

"You planning to run  _ me  _ over, now?" Zhenya says, as dry as possible. "I need to update will, maybe? Say goodbye to parents? To Sid? Maybe team?" 

Flower's laugh cracks the seriousness encasing his face. "Why would I tell you?" 

"You saying you don't want dying man to say bye to loved ones?"

"Who's dying?" Sid says, slipping into his seat. 

"Me. Because you take so long," Zhenya says, grateful Sid’s back. Zhenya doesn’t think Flower would try and bring up anything in front of him. 

Sid gives him a look. "Right. I'll just ignore everyone else in the world and focus on your feelings from now on." 

"So glad you understand," Zhenya says, smiling. "So smart." 

Sid and Flower share a look. He pauses for a bit before saying, "Why are you wearing sunglasses?" 

_ Because your apparently-ex boyfriend decided to interrogate me and I know how expressive I am, so I thought sunglasses might help.  _ "Because I'm worry I go blind, you take so long. Too bright." 

Flower isn’t Sid’s ex, though. Zhenya doesn’t think Flower was just Sid’s “friend with benefits,” either. 

Sid makes a face at him, and Zhenya knows it's coming so he doesn't stop Sid when he reaches out and takes a sip from Zhenya's beer.

"That's not how eyesight works," he says, tongue swiping out to collect the little bit of beer clinging to his lips. Zhenya probably shouldn't be reacting with as much desire as he is, considering how many times he's seen it happen.

"How you know? You doctor?" 

"I have common sense." 

Flower hums. "Do you, though?" he says, squinting at him.

"Didn't know, Flower?" Zhenya says, raising his eyebrows as he looks at Flower. He waves at Sid, willing his heartrate to go down; for fuck’s sake, it’s just  _ Flower _ . This isn’t the fucking  _ Bachelor _ , where they’re both trying to win Sid’s hand. Zhenya’s already won. This isn’t a competition. "Is great Sidney Crosby. Doesn't need learn anything, already know." 

It sure as hell  _ feels  _ like one, though. 

Flower shakes his head. "God, how could I have forgotten. Of course.  _ Everything _ 's common sense to him, because he already knows it all." 

"What the fuck, you're supposed to be on  _ my  _ side," Sid says, shooting Flower a betrayed look. 

"Me?  _ He's  _ your boyfriend." 

Zhenya’s still caught up in his thoughts, so he doesn’t pay attention when he says: "Yes, Sid. I'm boyfriend — what you trying to say?" He only realizes how loaded the question sounds when both of them turn to look at him, Flower scanning his face for meaning and Sid staring at him with eyes the size of a puck.

"Uh…" Sid's gaze flits between Zhenya and Flower, his mouth parted. "It's not — I mean — " When he licks his lips this time,  _ desire  _ is the furthest thing from Zhenya's mind. 

"Is okay," Zhenya says, grinning, pretending he doesn't realize how the question sounds, "I know I'm favorite."

Sid's reply is automatic at this point: "A captain doesn't have favorites."

" _ This  _ captain does," Flower says, gesturing at Sid with his chin, but his eyes stay on Zhenya’s face for far too long before he shifts to Sid. "Everyone knows Geno's your favorite.” He’s still looking at Sid, but the words feel as if they’re aimed at Zhenya. “People who've never even heard of Sidney Crosby know Geno's your favorite. Scarlett asked me the other day — " Here, he adopts a high-pitched voice — "''Papa, papa, why is Geno Uncle Sid's favorite even though you're so much cooler and more fun and more stylish?' and I had to say — " He adopts a thousand-yard stare, voice soft and incredulous as he continues, " 'I don't know, darling. I don't know. It's one of life's greatest mysteries.'" 

"Scarlett can't even talk," Sid says, unimpressed. 

Reason 290 Flower isn’t trying to take Zhenya's place, or whatever: he has a wife and two girls he loves more than anything else. 

The issue isn’t Flower, though, is it? It’s Sid. 

"Not to  _ you _ , maybe, but I know what she's saying," Flower says, sniffing. "We have a bond. She talks shit about you all the time. It's hilarious. She's  _ mean _ ." 

"Stop bully, Flower," Zhenya says, throwing a look toward Sid that hopefully conveys  _ I've got you, babe  _ but probably conveys  _ I love fucking with you, babe _ . Oh, well. Zhenya  _ tried _ . "Always so mean to Sid."

Flower snorts. "Right, forgot. Sibling rules apply here. Only  _ you  _ can be mean to Sid." 

"How you this smart but still say so much dumb things?" Zhenya says, hoping it comes out as light as he means it. Flower is his friend. More than that, he’s  _ team _ . 

"Learned it from you, I guess."

Because Zhenya doesn't have anything to say, he flicks a piece of pasta from his plate at Flower's face. Flower catches it — fucking goalie reflexes — and throws it back. It lands on Zhenya's shirt, sticking for a moment and Zhenya stares down at his chest as it falls away, leaving behind a sad, sad stain. 

Sid bursts out laughing, leaning back in his chair. Zhenya raises his head slowly to glare at Flower. "This was  _ new  _ shirt." 

It’s karma, probably. 

Flower shrugs, wiping his hand with a napkin. "Oops." 

Sid's still laughing so Zhenya kicks at his leg to get his attention. When he calms down a bit, Zhenya says, "Shouldn't  _ laugh _ , Sid. Is new! Buy it yesterday!" 

The laughter is bubbling through his voice as he says, "You shouldn't have started it." 

Zhenya makes an outraged noise. "Can't  _ believe _ . After I defend you? This what you do?" 

The expression on Zhenya's face sets Sid off again, and as he laughs, Zhenya sees Flower looking at him out of the corner of his eye. Zhenya pretends he doesn't notice. 

***

Sid follows him home, which would've been more surprising if Zhenya hadn't noticed the way Sid kept glancing at him as the three talked. 

Zhenya gets there almost ten minutes ahead of Sid, even though they'd left at the same time, so he kicks off his shoes and heads to the kitchen. They just ate, yeah, but he's still hungry, and he's scanning the contents of his fridge, hoping to magically find leftovers because he doesn't want to burn through his freezer stash this fast.

He hears the door open and shut as he's glaring at the ghosttown that is his fridge, tsking to himself as he pulls out bread and jelly, and then pausing as he realizes he'd sounded  _ just  _ like his mother when she tsks disapprovingly. 

Shit. He  _ is  _ getting old. 

He's finishing spreading the peanut butter on the bread — yes, fine, he switched to the brand Sid likes because he's  _ weak _ ; he can't ever let anyone find out — when Sid steps into the kitchen. 

"You want?" Zhenya asks without looking up. 

"Yes, please."

He does look up then, grinning as he says, "Make yourself." 

Sid frowns at him. "Fine." 

Zhenya waits until Sid gets near him — he's trying to hide the fact that he's actually annoyed, and it never works — before sliding the plate toward Sid. "Here." When Sid just stares at it, he sighs. "Is sandwich. Suppose to eat." 

"Oh." Sid smiles, picking up the plate and leaning his hip against the counter. "Thanks." 

Zhenya finishes making his own sandwich before looking at Sid. Sid's staring at the opened jars of peanut butter and jelly, the butter knife sitting on the lid of the peanut butter, the still-open bag of bread, and the fact that he isn't bitching at Zhenya to clean up is a testament to how important the thing he wants to say is. "So? What you wanna say?"

"What, I can't just wanna talk to you?" 

Zhenya stares at him, taking a bite and chewing as judgmentally as he can. 

Which is  _ also  _ something his mother does, god. 

"I just…" Sid studies his sandwich. He glances up. "I just wanted to make sure that, y'know. You didn't actually mean anything by that comment about Flower?" He stuffs his mouth with a bite. 

_ I knew it _ , Zhenya refrains from saying. "Didn't." He shakes his head. "Didn't realize what it sound like until see your face. And Flower's face." 

Sid studies him. "You sure?" 

Zhenya nods. "Yes. I tell you if not." Which is a lie, and Sid probably knows that, so he adds to offset any complaints: "Me and Flower talk. When you in bathroom." He hadn't planned to tell Sid, but needs must. It was either distract Sid or wait for him to call bullshit. Zhenya hates being called on his bullshit.  

"What?" 

"He ask me if I'm pissed. We talk, I tell him no, talk some more — so don't need worry about me and Flower being upset, either." He's hoping Sid doesn't try to circle back to the initial question, because Zhenya's shit at lying; it's why he's so good at deflecting and redirecting conversation. 

He doesn't want Sid to ask what he's feeling, because he doesn't fucking  _ know  _ what he's feeling. Had he meant the question the way it had come out? Not intentionally, but maybe a part of him had. 

The thing is, he doesn't want to make Sid feel like he has to pick sides. Mainly because he knows  _ Sid  _ doesn't want to pick sides, doesn't see this a situation where he would ever even have to, but partly because he's afraid he won't like the answer, if Sid  _ does  _ feel like he has no choice. 

It's not that he doubts Sid loves him. Of course Sid loves him. But they haven't even talked about what they want their lives to look like a couple years from now, let alone after hockey. It's a conversation Zhenya doesn't want to have. 

Another side effect of being shit at lying: the tendency to avoid conversations one really, really doesn't want to face.   

Sid frowns, setting the plate down on the counter, his sandwich forgotten as he crosses his arms. "I didn't realize there was anything to talk about." 

Zhenya rolls his eyes, but relief flows through him.  _ This  _ is something he can talk about. "Isn't, which is what I say. He worry, I say don't." He steps closer so he can gently smooth the crease on Sid's forehead with the back of his knuckle. "You don't, too." 

Sid stares up at him. A moment passes, then two. Zhenya stares back, trying to look as convincing as possible. When Sid nods, Zhenya tries to make sure his relief isn't obvious. 

"Okay," Sid says. Zhenya steps back, allowing Sid to pick up his plate and start in on his sandwich again. It takes the both of them about ten seconds to finish, and Sid grabs Zhenya's plate, heading to the sink. 

"Hurry up and clean up," Sid says, turning the tap on.

"Staying?" Zhenya says, putting the lids on everything and slipping the butter knife into the sink. 

"Yeah. Think I have an idea about what we could do to pass the time." 

Zhenya wraps the bread up — he'd lost the bread tie a while back — and throws it in, shutting the fridge door. "Hockey drills?" 

"I mean," Sid says, shutting the tap, and he smirks at Zhenya as he continues, "I guess you could say stickhandling's definitely involved." 

Before Sid can ask for a towel, Zhenya grabs it and throws it at him, booing, and Sid laughs loudly as he catches it. This is obviously an egregious offense, so Zhenya shuts him up by pulling him close and kissing him. 

***

It takes him a few days to realize the emotion burning him from the inside every time he thinks about Sid and Flower includes  _ arousal _ , not just jealousy, not just insecurity. 

Sid's made eggs — one of the few things Sid can actually cook, and by “actually cook,” Zhenya means “not burn” — and Zhenya is too pleased at having breakfast ready when he stumbles out of bed to get out anything but a grateful grunt as he passes Sid by, staring at the cupboards, trying to remember where the plates are, before Sid takes pity and says: "Bread's in the toaster; there's a plate and butter knife there, too." 

"Thanks," Zhenya says, and he's about 75% sure it's both in English and also discernible. He squints at the toaster, butter knife in hand, startling a little when the toaster spits out his toast. 

He yawns, shovelling eggs onto his plate, walking to where Sid's sitting at the table, scrolling through his phone. His plate's empty in front of him, his mug half full of coffee, which Zhenya swipes to drink. 

Sid looks at him, annoyed. "Get your own coffee." 

Zhenya nods and then drains the mug. Sid's just opened his mouth when Zhenya gets up, mug in hand, and fills it to the brim for himself, grabbing another to fill half-way for Sid. He shuffles back, nodding at Sid's, "Thanks." 

His brain decides to come online about halfway through the meal. Sid laughs at something and Zhenya perks up. "What?" 

Sid turns his phone so Zhenya can see the screen. "Flower. Scarlett threw some food at Estelle, and Estelle decided to return the favor, so everyone's covered in some type of food." 

Flower stares back at him from the screen, trying to look unamused — which is hard for a guy who's basically always amused — with half his face covered in what looks like whipped cream. The accompanying text reads:  _ You think stopping a hockey fight is tough? Try stopping two sisters who have decided a food fight is the way to go.  _ Zhenya huffs out a laugh. "Tell him he look better this way." 

"He says, 'Fuck you, Geno, I always look amazing.'" Sid looks at him, eyebrow raised. "What witty response do you wanna send him?" 

"Too early for think," Zhenya whines. "You think." 

"I'll just tell him you didn't have anything to say back to him." 

"What?" Zhenya straightens. "Can't just say that.  _ Sid _ . Think something funny, say it from me." 

Sid groans and then hands Zhenya the phone. "Just...say something in Russian." 

Zhenya takes it from him. "You have Russian keyboard?" 

Zhenya's expecting a  _ no _ , so when Sid says, "Yes," Zhenya has to pause. "Why?" 

Sid shrugs. "Sometimes I wanna look something up in Russian." Zhenya stares at him, because there has to be more than that. "And…" Sid shifts in his seat, bringing the coffee closer to him, cupping it in both hands. He opens his mouth before frowning abruptly. "You're gonna laugh." 

"Why I do that?" When Sid doesn't say anything, Zhenya hooks an ankle around his calf, tugging a little to get Sid to look at him. "Never laugh at you. Want make you laugh only. If ever think I'm laugh at you, tell me." 

Sid bites his lip. "I, uh. Might...be learning a little Russian? Kinda?" 

"You…" Zhenya stares at him, mouth parted. "Why?" 

Sid furrows his brow. "Because...you're Russian?" he says, tone asking,  _ Isn't it obvious?  _ "I just thought, y'know. It'd be nice. I mean, you speak English, and I'm never gonna be as good at Russian as you are at English, but…" He shrugs, thumb tracing the handle of the mug. "I know how hard speaking another language is, especially when you really don't feel comfortable doing it, and I can tell how frustrated you are sometimes when you can't say what you want to say. I just, I don't know." He shrugs again. 

Zhenya wishes he could do something instead of just staring, but he's still parsing the information. 

"Should...I not have done that?" Sid asks, growing red. 

Zhenya stands, and Sid's eyes widen. Before Sid can ask what the fuck is going on, Zhenya rounds the table and leans down so he can kiss Sid, soft and sweet. Sid relaxes into the kiss, and Zhenya pulls back just far enough to say, "Thank you," before kissing him again. 

Sid probably tries to bring a hand up because the next second, he spills his coffee all over the table. "Fuck,  _ fuck _ ," Sid says, and he makes as if to get up, but Zhenya pushes his shoulder down to stop him. 

"Sit, I get." He realizes he still has Sid's phone in his hand as he's getting the paper towels, and he hands it to Sid when he gets back, throwing a bunch of paper towels on the coffee to soak it up. Sid moves his arm as if to pick up the paper towels, but Zhenya bats at it. 

"No, wait. Let soak." He's so fucking glad he hadn't put down a cloth over the table, and he'd done it  _ precisely  _ because he'd foreseen something like this happening. 

Sid makes a face at him but lets it be. "Oh, you still didn't say anything to Flower," he says as Zhenya gets back in his seat. 

Zhenya holds out his hand and when he gets the phone, he switches to the Russian keyboard to type out:  _ you misspelled "you," genius. I know I always look amazing thanks)))))).  _ He smirks to himself as he hands the phone back. 

"What'd you say?" 

"Say, 'Forget how to spell 'you,' so smart. I'm know I look amazing always, thank you.'" 

Sid shakes his head, huffing out a laugh. 

Zhenya watches him until his own phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out to see a text from Flower that says:  _ what the fuck does that mean _ . Zhenya grins and types back, still in Russian:  _ figure it out.  _

He ignores Flower, then, whose texts are getting increasingly irate — let him stew for a bit — and finishes his food, still staring at Sid. 

Sid's learning Russian for him. That hadn't even been in the realm of possibility, for Zhenya. Sid had tried to learn Russian, back when Zhenya had first gotten here, but there’s a reason the only Russian Sid knows is how to introduce himself, a few simple every day objects, and a litany of curse words: he had been awful. It was one of the few things Sid hadn’t been able to accomplish, even after trying a lot harder and for a lot longer than Zhenya ever would have, so it isn’t something Zhenya often brings up; he knows Sid wasn’t happy about it. 

So why would Sid try to learn a language he couldn’t the first time around — in _secret,_ no less — if he _wasn't_ thinking about a future with Zhenya? 

Sid looks at the paper towels spread around the table top and wrinkles his nose but doesn't pick them up, looking to Zhenya instead, mouth open. Something on Zhenya's face must take him off-guard. "What does that look mean?" 

"What look?" 

"The one you're giving me." 

Zhenya opens his mouth. The lie is on the tip of his tongue — another deflection, really — but he doesn't know what he's going to say until he says: "I'm lie." 

Sid straightens, leaning forward. "What?" 

"Before. You ask about how I feel about Flower, say I'm okay. I'm lie." Sid's face is going through a series of expressions — Zhenya can pick out hurt, worry, a little bit of anger — so he continues quickly: "But okay now. Really okay." 

Sid's learning Russian for him. 

"Why did you lie?" Sid says after a moment. 

"Because I'm feel…" Zhenya wrinkles his nose. He fucking hates talking about feelings in English. How does he explain the insecurity, the doubt? The obsessive pursuing of the question,  _ Does he really mean it when he says he's fine? When he says I'm enough? Enough to make him stay?  _ The irrational pang of possessiveness and jealousy coursing through him every time he saw Flower and Sid talking, laughing, together? "Uh, jealous? And feel...maybe I not good enough?" He shakes his head. "Lots of dumb thought. But finally feel okay." 

"Your thoughts aren't dumb," Sid says, frowning. He drums his fingers on the table. "I...didn't know it got to you that much. I would've approached it differently if I had." 

Zhenya smiles. "Know this.” 

He’s about to say something else, but Sid starts talking before he can. “And...you know you don’t have anything to be jealous of, right? You’re more than enough.” Sid isn’t quite looking at him. “It’s not like I’m — “ He licks his lips. “I, y’know.” He shrugs again, and finally looks at Zhenya. “I intend to stick around however long you’ll let me.”  

Zhenya ducks his head, grinning like an idiot at his overcooked-but-still-edible eggs. To think he’s  _ this  _ fucking overjoyed at dealing with subpar eggs for the rest of his life. “Good. I hope you do.” It isn’t anything he didn’t already suspect, but hearing it aloud makes it real. He contemplates his eggs for a bit longer. “And think…" He takes a breath, looking up at Sid. "Maybe I want." 

"Want...what?" 

"You, me, Flower. Want." Now that he's said it aloud, he realizes he actually  _ does _ . Not because he actually wants to have sex with Flower, but because Sid wants it. That much is obvious. And if this is something Zhenya can give to Sid..well, it isn't as if it's going to be just Sid and Flower. He's gonna be there, too. 

"Like...sex?" When Zhenya nods, Sid lets out a breathy, "Oh." He swallows. "Okay. That's — okay. Are you sure?"

"Yes." He tilts his head at Sid's skeptical look. "You not believe?" 

"No, I do, I just — are you  _ sure _ ?" 

"Want me to give details? Maybe about how I'm think we fuck?" Which...is a lot more appealing than Zhenya had thought it would be. 

Sid swallows again. "Yes." 

Zhenya's off-balance only for a second — he hadn't actually expected Sid to say yes — before he finds his footing. "Think, first I want watch you and Flower. See what you do. How you fuck." Zhenya pushes his plate to the side; he doesn't think he'll be finishing his breakfast any time soon. "Want to know what you want, when you think of me and Flower and you."

Sid stands up, eyes dark. "Yeah, we're going upstairs." 

Zhenya stretches back, smirking as he gestures at the table. "Have to clean, no? Can't leave mess." 

Sid tugs at him. "Come on. We can clean it later." 

Zhenya tsks at him, staying put. "What you always say to me? 'Just do it now'? Should do it now." 

"Geno," Sid demands, tugging a little harder. "Come  _ on _ . Or we're not having sex for — for three days. I'm serious." 

Zhenya stands up, snorting as he follows Sid. "You can't stop for three days. Break before me." 

Sid pauses, looking back at him, eyes narrowed. "Is that a challenge?" 

"No," Zhenya hurries to say, because he recognizes a lose-lose situation when he sees one. "No challenge. Stop think everything I'm say is challenge." 

"Then stop saying things that sound like a challenge," Sid says, resuming his trek to the bedroom. 

"Everything challenge to you. Maybe I never say anything." Zhenya's phone had stopped buzzing a while back, so he pulls it out and grins as he sees the line of texts from Flower. The last one says:  _ fine, be an asshole. Fuck you.  _ Zhenya types out in Russian:  _ maybe you'll get to _ __

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading and let me know what y'all thought! i was totally gonna write more scenes w flower after geno's was like "yeah okay let's do it," but this is already 9k+ and also i don't think i'm particularly good at writing sex so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ if y'all wanna actually read sid/flower/geno threesome (+feelings), i'd definitely recommend reading coricomile's fic!! beware of flower-leaving-for-vegas feelings though that made me so fucking emotional
> 
> i'm also [on tumblr](https://itsahockeyplay.tumblr.com), if that's of interest!!


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